


Paint the Skies Red

by ishipitsobad



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Cutie Pie Charles, Emotional Manipulation, Emotionally Constipated Erik, Erik Has Feelings, Kid!Charles, M/M, Mentions of Breeding, Worldbuilding, sexist insults and remarks, will add more tags later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-03-18 18:33:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3579648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishipitsobad/pseuds/ishipitsobad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is the first male Omega to be born in four hundred years, and the first to be blessed with the Sight in five hundred. This makes him the most valuable creature in existence. Protected by the last Drachen family in existence, he is raised and cared for with love and kindness. There are those who hope he will one day become their King's true mate, and rule alongside him until their evening days.</p><p>And then there are those who would kill to see otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How I Met You

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Prince and the Little Omega](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1869618) by [Nicolas_Mayfair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicolas_Mayfair/pseuds/Nicolas_Mayfair). 



> Don't mind me, just dumping this in my WIP pile.

 "This is him, then?"

It's not so much a question as it is a statement, as it always is with Erik. He's seventeen, barely of age, but already he carries himself with the confidence and gravity as expected of an experienced king he will someday be. His eyes are the color of steel and storm clouds, and they narrow speculatively as he regards the newborn in his mother's arms

  "Yes," Edie Lehnsherr is not fooled by her son's detached indifference. She can see the nervousness, the anticipation, the curiosity he practically vibrates with. If his face gives nothing away, his body does, taut and stiff as it is. "His name is Charles."

As if on practiced cue, Charles opens his eyes and snuffles, burrowing deeper into the warmth that is Edie's chest. Erik is taken aback; his eyes are a startlingly vivid blue for one so young--like the sapphires that decorate the throne upon which his mother sits, that will someday be his as well.

  "Is it natural? His eyes?" Erik inquires, a little dumbfounded.

  "Yes, it is. It is a sign, Erik," Edie smiles fondly. "A sign that he is special."

 This specialness of which his mother spoke was not the thing that coddling, overbearingly doting parents used to describe their child. Charles was special in a way that no one else had been for hundreds of years: he was the first male omega to be born in four centuries, and the first human to have the Sight in five. His birth had been prophesied by no more than three Sages, and thus had been greatly looked forward to for the nine months of his mother's gestation.

Wars had been declared, both political and physical, to claim him. Charles would one day grow up and learn that the blood of hundreds of men had been shed just for the honor of claiming him.

Erik's father had won that right, by way of old friendship and of mutual understanding with Charles' father. Many had declared it a cheat, a farce, but ultimately Brian Xavier declared that his son would be protected and raised by the Lehnsherrs, and when he came of age, Charles would be allowed to choose if he would mate Erik or not.

It helped that the Lehnsherrs were the last surviving race of Drachen, a bloodline that allowed fathers and their sons to morph into scaled beasts of flame and power upon will (and sometimes anger). The race had died out over the span of decades, when more and more girls were born than boys, and eventually all but the Lehnsherrs were lost to age and decay as their human mates died. For Drachen only mated once, for true love and nothing else, and when they mated they lost their immortality. They would age as their human mates did, and when their mates died, they would follow in grief and love.

As Erik looks upon Charles, with his nondescript and squished-up face that all newborns have, he canno't quite imagine him as his true love.

 "And what of his parents?" Erik had expected Charles' mother to raise some kind of fuss at having her child taken away so soon after weaning. "Will they not demand him back?"

 "I expect not," Edie sighs. "Lord Brian's death was too painful for Lady Sharon to bear, and she is in no condition to look after Charles on her own. If she ever demands to have Charles back... we shall see when it comes to that."

Erik frowns, and regards Charles once more. The little babe is dozing, and he is frightfully small, no longer than Erik's forearm and not that much wider.

  "Here, why don't you hold him?" Edie holds Charles out to him, and Erik visibly startles. "It's alright, Erik. He won't break so easily. Just don't drop him, yes?"

  "I won't," Erik scowls. He gingerly takes Charles into his arms, a bit nervous no matter what he might have said. Charles feels both fragile and substantial in his swaddling, his body lax against Erik's hold like putty.

  "Support his head--that's right,  _liebchen_ ," Edie guides her son's hands until he's cradling Charles properly. "There."

Charles is disturbed by the change and movements, and he begins to fuss, little hands and feet kicking free of of the swaddling. Erik grabs onto him tightly, afraid of dropping him.

  "Shh," Erik says desperately, trying to cuddle him as best he can without hurting him.

Charles opens his eyes once more, those luminous blue eyes that steal Erik's breath away, and makes the most adorably frustrated pout Erik has ever seen. He whimpers and squirms, until Erik readjusts his hold such that Charles is held against his chest and his little face is pressed against his neck. The babe settles, his breath hot little puffs against the bared skin of Erik's throat.

Edie observes with a warm fondness she does not bother to hide.

  "He's... heavy," Erik had not expected that, and Charles rubs his face against Erik's neck. He can't help but feel a thrill of delight and pleasure that Charles is so young but already he likes Erik's scent. "For someone so small."

  "Newborns are always heavier than they look," Edie says wisely. "They carry the weight of their own future. I remember you were both big  _and_ heavy. My arms would feel like I was carrying around a leaden weight!"

  "Mama!" Erik flushes with embarrassment and a tinge of guilt. His birth had been both difficult and taxing on his mother, who had nearly died and was subsequently unable to bear his father any more children. But they loved him no less than if he had been allowed siblings.

Edie laughs at his red face. "Don't be embarrassed,  _schatz_."

Erik scowls, and it's as if Charles can sense his mood because he's fussing again, little mouth puckering up and tiny fists clutching at the heavy fabric of Erik's robe. He makes a soft, distressed noise and Erik can feel his face heating up a little.

  "Shh," Erik rocks Charles a little, patting his small back. He's gratified when Charles immediately settles once more, and feels a small tug at his heart when Charles exhales gustily in a coo.

Edie gives him a knowing look. "He's sweet, is he not? I dare say he is attached to you already."

  "I..." Erik does not know what to say. He has to leave for the academy in an hour, where he will stay until the winter festival starts. That's three moons, and while he's never been homesick before, Erik wonders if he can stand going away for that long when there's something-- _someone--_ so precious here.

  "He'll be here when you come back, Erik. Rest assured," Edie gently takes Charles from him, and Erik can't help the frown that wrinkles his brow. "And he'll not have changed much by then, I promise."

Erik nods, and does not care if his mother teases him for it when he bends over to kiss the Charles' hot (do all babies run such warm temperatures?) little forehead goodbye before leaving the room. He hears a loud whine, a desolate noise as he goes, but does not turn back. He is afraid that if he does, he will not be able to leave.

* * *

A scant three days after Charles' first birthday (celebrated by the kingdom, both nobility and commonfolk alike for the Lehnsherrs held merit above ancestry), a war broke out.

No one was quite sure _why_ it had started, or what the matter of dispute was, but it quickly became clear that innocent men and women were dying for a cause that did not exist. Erik, eighteen and brash, decides to quell the war before too much lasting damage was caused and the nations devolved into dark times once more. He kisses his mother goodbye, and looks upon Charles with a love he cannot quite define yet before departing with the banners of his family's crest in the air.

He thinks he will be home before Charles turns two.

* * *

Charles is five years old, chubby and rosy-cheeked with a great love for anyone who will love him back (that means everyone, for who can resist those adoring bright blue eyes and tousled brown hair?). He is often seen toddling around the castle with some small creature that has cross his path in his arms (Charles is fond of beings smaller than him, of which there are not many. Hence the fondness) and an entourage of maids and servants and guards scurrying in his wake.

He is loved by all who know him, and the townsfolk look forward to his afternoon walks, during which he is escorted around the market square by a veritable squadron of caretakers and bodyguards. He is happy little thing, both quietly intelligent and vocally cheerful. He is peppered with kind words and gifted small trinkets by the people, who coo over his cherub-like appearance.

Edie is often there when Charles goes to bed, and she reads him a story so he can fall asleep to the lullaby of his voice. He does not call her mother, no, because he has been taught for as long as he can remember that as much as he loves her, Edie is not his mother. His real mother is somewhere far away, and he does not wonder about her for there is much else to occupy his thoughts with. Like stray kittens and big books in the library with words he can't read yet but will.

He knows Edie is sad, even when she smiles. He wonders why, and thinks maybe it has something to do with the fact that her husband, King Jakob, is not around anymore. Or perhaps it's because her son (whom Edie says he has met before but Charles was too young to remember) is away, fighting a battle beyond the borders of the kingdom. Charles thinks she misses them, and that makes him all the more determined to cheer her up. He takes her flowers he picked from the garden (Moira gets angry and scolds him), draws her pictures (and gets paint and crayon marks all over his face), shows her stray kittens and the big dogs he finds outside (much to the horror of everyone who finds him with a beast more than twice his size trailing after him). Edie laughs, and she occasionally chides him for being silly, but she is still sad.

Then Prince Erik comes home.


	2. Time Changes People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik meets Charles for the first time in four years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't expect too much... I may or may not delete this chapter and rewrite it at some point. Please provide constructive feedback in the comments to help me in doing so! (no meanbutt stuff)

Erik does not know what to expect upon his return, but it certainly is not this.

The overwhelmingly deafening cheers of his kingdom’s people and the castle residents are unsurprising, but he does not expect to feel so… _resigned_ , and _indifferent_. It is as if he has not wished to go home for the last four years, for the war to be over and for him and his men to return to their former lives of tranquility and security. There were days when he regretted setting off on this campaign, of a seemingly impossible quest for peace. But such feelings were dispelled by the firm reminder that if he had not taken up arms, his kingdom would have been a casualty of the conflict, whether by intention or not of the warring sides.

There are cheerfully colorful decorations in place, the king’s banner streaming from the castle walls, and flowers thrown into the path of his men’s horses. There are some who are delighted to be home, some who are as exhausted and resigned as Erik, and then there are those who simply… did not have the chance to look upon this joyful sight. It is such a thought that makes Erik’s back stiffen, and he forces his expression to be more pleasant to the eye, for he owes it to the dead to be happy for the living. There will be families who will be shuttered away in their houses, grieving their loss and perhaps even cursing his rule for snatching away their beloved. He does not ask their forgiveness, because he does not deserve it. He simply hopes that they will understand that their sacrifice was not in vain, and will be commended and honored as it should.

Erik leads the troops into the castle courtyard, which is a hubbub of celebration and shouts. He recognizes a few familiar faces, some of the maids and the guards who have practically raised him alongside his parents, and some of their children who were once Erik’s playmates and practice opponents. A real, if faint, smile settles across his weary features, and he dismounts into a swarm of hugs and tearful smiles.

  “Make way for the Queen!”

The heralding shout draws his attention immediately, for it is of his mother whom he has often thought these last four years, if she has fared well and her rule been accepted with the respect it deserves these last four years. Some nights, on the battleground, he has felt like a small boy once more, wishing that she were there to sing him to sleep as she often did when he was plagued by nightmares.

Queen Edie Lehnsherr, former Princess of the Polaris Isles and current ruler of Genosha, stepped through the crowd with her head held high and her bearings as subtly majestic as always ( _“posture is important, Erik. Stop slouching!”_ ). On her face, however, was a tearful smile that belied the quiet calm of her approach. Indeed, once they were within arm’s length of each other, she drew him close and hugged him as tightly as though he were a boy no taller than her hip again.

Erik closed his eyes, and breathed in his mother’s familiar scent. It assauged his raw senses, and for a moment he was no longer a twenty-one year old who had watched over the death of dozens of his own soldiers, not a man on the verge of being crowned king, but a young boy coming to his mother with a scraped knee. These last four years had turned the hairs at her temple a telling grey, and there were lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth that he had not seen before. What troubles did she endure in his absence? What disagreements have caused her such stress? He will quell them with the force he used to quell the war, mark his words.

  “Oh, Erik,” she murmured, stroking his hair. He can hear the relief and the joy in her voice at having him home again. “You have been so missed. Welcome home, _schatz_.”

  “Mama,” he does not care if the people hear their king-to-be snivelling like a child still wet behind the ears. This is his mother, and he has not seen her in four years—he is entitled to a little concession. “I missed you so much.”

  “Come, Erik,” she lets him go, and if her eyes are a little shiny and her nose a little red, who is he to say anything? “There is someone I wish for you to meet.”

* * *

 

Charles is not nervous.

He’s really not. He’s just…curious, that’s all. Moira has her hand on his shoulder, her gardening-calloused hands still as sweet-smelling and calming from all the herbs she tends to. He does _not_ wriggle, and he does _not_ tug at the collar of his robes. They’re stifling, and he wants to change back into his cotton breeches and tunic, but he’s _important_ (Queen Edie says so!) and he’s going to be meeting someone even more important (he is Queen Edie’s son, which makes him a Prince, and Princes are very important people).

Despite his declarations that he is in fact, _not_ nervous at all, he can’t help himself.

  “Will he like me?” he mumbles, not sure if he actually wants an answer. He kicks his legs a little harder.

Raven snorts, and Moira chastises her with a look but turns to Charles with a kind smile. “Of course he will. You met him before, when you were much younger. He liked you very much.”

  “But that was before!” Charles protests. He knows people change with time, a fact Queen Edie and many others wish he had never come to learn, when little Johnny had decided that Charles was “too little” to play with him anymore because he was a “big kid” now.

  “Erik held you _all_ the time whenever he came home from boarding school,” Raven laughs, slouching in the armchair by the door. She’s one of his nannies, and she’s always got new things for him to do everyday (like last week, she brought him a fox with a broken leg! Not that the broken leg was good, it’s just that it was exciting because he’d only ever seen foxes in books. Moira wasn’t so excited, though). “He would actually _growl_ whenever someone tried to take you from him, even just to change your poopy nappy. Trust me, Charles, ‘liking you’ won’t be much of a problem.”

Charles is reassured, because Raven doesn’t lie (“Charles, that haircut looks terrible.” “Raven!”) and Moira is nodding her head, too.

  “Is he nice?” Charles asks tentatively. He doesn’t have much of a standard, but Raven is nice, and so is Moira. Queen Edie is _super_ nice.

Raven and Moira exchange a look he doesn’t understand, but he quickly gets the feeling that Prince Erik is not someone who comes across as nice at first.

Before either of them can say anything, the door swings open and Queen Edie walks in with the biggest smile Charles has ever seen. She looks so happy, without a trace of that sadness Charles is always trying to chase away, and he thinks it’s because of the man who walks in behind her.

Prince Erik looks just like the paintings of him in the hallway, tall and slightly scary because he’s not smiling like Queen Edie. He’s got gray eyes with purple smudges under them, and he has Queen Edie’s reddish-gold hair. He looks really tired, and he’s got that look that Moira gets when Charles gets himself into scrapes and messes.

  “Charles, darling,” Queen Edie sweeps over and kisses his forehead before standing to the side and waving an arm at the man. “This is Prince Erik. You two met when you were much younger, before Erik… went away.”

He gets to his feet, because he’s been taught that you should stand in the presence of royals (Queen Edie rolled her eyes when he told her why he wouldn’t sit down for tea with her, banishing that notion; but Prince Erik makes him uncomfortable, and he follows the rules when he’s uncomfortable because he doesn’t want to make things worse). Prince Erik still isn’t smiling.

  “H-hello,” Charles squeaks, resolutely _not_ twisting the hem of his shirt. “I’m Charles.”

Prince Erik just looks down at him, as if he doesn’t quite know what to say. Charles feels his chin trembling, and bites his lip to stop it. He _won’t_ cry. He _musn’t_. Queen Edie is happy, and he won’t ruin that.

  “Erik, you’re scaring him,” Queen Edie laughs. “Stop being rude and say hello.”

Prince Erik quirks a brow, and sighs under his mother’s unwavering stare. “Hello, Charles.”

Charles peeps at him, but he still isn’t smiling and shouldn’t he be smiling? Queen Edie is. Prince Erik is staring at him like isn’t exactly sure what he’s supposed to do with Charles, and this makes him unhappy.

  “Go ‘way,” Charles mumbles into Queen Edie’s skirts. Queen Edie laughs.

  “It’s alright, Charles,” Queen Edie soothes, picking him up to balance him on her hip. He hides his face in her shoulder so he doesn’t have to look at Prince Erik. That way, he can pretend he’s not there.

  “I’m sorry, mother,” Prince Erik sighs, addressing Queen Edie. “I’m exhausted. May I retire to my chambers and see you at dinner instead?”

  “Certainly,” she says smoothly, but before he can turn to go, she grabs his ear.

  “Ow!”

  “And don’t be so mean,” she scolds. “Being tired is no excuse to be rude, Erik Lehnsherr. I expect you to be on better behavior at dinner, especially for Charles.”

Erik groans and his mother gives his ear a sharp tug. “Yes! Okay!”

Queen Edie makes a satisfied noise and kisses his cheek. “Good. I will see you at dinner, then.”

Prince Erik makes a short bow and leaves, muttering under his breath about abuse.

  “He’s a little…different since the last time you met him,” Queen Edie tells Charles, and the little boy gives Raven and Moira a look like ‘I told you so’. “But don’t worry, he’ll warm up quickly enough.”


	3. Of Fathers and Sons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik muses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry, but I'm kind of having a writer's block. I don't quite know how to make Charles' and Erik's relationship progress, and suggestions would be most appreciated! This will be just a short filler chapter about the Lehnsherr lineage, Erik's father and just basically Erik's POV and opinion of Charles!

Erik doesn’t know what to make of Charles; therefore making it understandable that he does not know how to treat him. It was so much easier when he was just a babe that cried for all of three reasons: to be fed, changed or cuddled. Now, he’s a continent, sentient child of five years, fully capable of forming his opinion and capable of the appropriate coherency to voice it.

It surprises him to find that he is actually _nervous_ about re-acquainting himself with Charles. The feeling is so foreign when it’s related to something as innocuous as this; anxiety about an upcoming battle, a diplomatic attempt at peace treaties likely to erupt into violent confrontation, living through the night on the battlefield… that form of anxiety, he is accustomed to. He at least knows how to compartmentalize it, how to endure. But this is something entirely different.

Charles looks like he just walked out of a mural, with his pink cheeks heavy with puppy fat and wide blue eyes that tell no lies (he’s clearly terrified of Erik, and that wobbling chin is the ultimate tell). He is so much more expressive than a babe of one, when he was just still barely capable of crawling from the rug to Erik’s lap where he was cheering Charles on in muted excitement (there were servants present and he has a reputation to preserve, even at eighteen).

  “Your Grace?”

Erik glances up at Henry McCoy, the royal physician. Four years have passed, and the only thing that has changed about the man is his eyesight. He’s only a few months younger than Erik, and is as gangly and awkward as when he’d been a mere physician’s apprentice, stumbling and tripping over his own feet. Now, he totes a pair of glasses and twists his fingers nervously as he awaits the reason for his summoning.

  “Just put the obligatory bandages on, McCoy,” Erik sighs, wincing as he aggravates injuries in the act of pulling off his shirt. “Or my mother won’t let either of us hear the end of it.”

Henry nods in understanding; Queen Edie’s wrath is a fearsome thing to behold. He sets about dabbing the wounds with salve and unrolling swathes of cloth to cover up the more gruesome cuts while Erik closes his eyes and lets his mind wander towards practicalities, deeds that need doing and matters that need minding. His coronation will be arranged without delay, that much is for certain; he will not have his mother bear another day of the burdensome regency more than utterly necessary when the weight of the crown mars her countenance. There will be dignitaries to invite and entertain, the Temple to visit and the appropriate respects to pay.

And then there will be the issue of his spouse. There is little doubt in Erik’s mind that the topic will be raised at some point in the next few days. The other kingdoms (at least the deferential ones that Erik can and will tolerate in his proximity) are aware of and acknowledge the tentative engagement between himself and Charles, and will not push forward their own suggestions in the form of their own daughters and whatnot. But there will be at least a few sycophants who will raise their doubts, their dissatisfaction with the situation, and unsubtly hint at a union between their families and Erik’s. For he was the last Drachen alive, and few would turn down the opportunity at having such an ally bound by marriage.

  “I’m done, your Grace,” Henry interrupts his thoughts, but Erik does not mind. “I would suggest resting for a few days to give your more serious injuries time to heal properly, but…”

Erik grins and Henry is visibly struggling to hide his exasperation.

  “Thank you, McCoy,” Erik grunts as he puts on his robes for dinner. The Lehnsherr coat of arms canvasses the back, a maroon dragon with reddish-gold wings, horns and talons rearing its head and jaws wide open in a silent roar. His father used to tell him the stories of his ancestors, how they were brave and courageous and unyielding in their passionate pursuit of justice and fairness. _True strength comes not from_ _the power we wield,_ his father would say and even now Erik can see the quiet strength in his sire’s face, illuminated by candlelight as he sits by Erik’s bed. _It comes from our heart, enforced by the beliefs and ideals we make real by our own hands._

And Erik had stood by that as best he could, refusing to use his Drachen unless absolutely necessary, and adamantly rejecting unfair compromises that would leave one side bereft.

Blood had been shed as easily as water flowing from a river, lives had been blown out like the candles in the dead of night. And still Erik stood by what his father defined as ‘power’. As he heads towards the dining hall where his mother awaits, he pauses by a portrait of his father as a young man.

Jakob Lehnsherr was a great man, none could question that, and the wise would never doubt it in the presence of his surviving kin. Some had even compared him with his ancestor, Max the Great of Heart, and that had made Erik proud of his sire as any child would be. His death had incited a mourning so widespread, that there were whispered rumors in back alleys that Erik would not be able to fill his father’s shoes.

He brushes the frame of his father’s portrait, wondering if those rumors were stamped out or if they still floated around like malevolent spirits purposed to taunt him. He is only a little surprised by how little he cares.

The servants pull open the heavy wooden doors to the dining hall as he arrives, and Erik feels a wave of nostalgia as he beholds his mother sitting on the carved wooden chair with Charles in her lap. They are laughing, and although it is not the same room, not the same situation… it reminds Erik of the first time he met Charles. That feeling of wanting to be a part of that warm bubble of delight and contentment. A bond not tangible but undeniable.

Charles looks to Edie as if she were his own mother, and his brilliant blue eyes are alight with a carefree joy only a child can have when he knows little of the world and all its less savory truths. Perhaps Erik is a little jealous, but mostly that is obscured by a desire to have Charles look at him the same way. Especially when the pair look over and Charles’ face shutters and turns away.

Erik sighs, and braces himself for an ordeal likely to be long and onerous.


	4. Home Sweet Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awkward dinners will be awkward; Erik may or may not have PTSD, and Charles...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse.

Dinner is an awkward affair, prolonged by stilted attempts by Edie to elicit conversation between her son and her ward. Charles is either being shy, fussy or fearful; it is very hard to distinguish his reasons for evading Erik when his face is hidden in the folds of Edie's skirts or gaze focussed on his plate with an intensity of a child of five should not be capable of. He mumbles under his breath when spoken to, and Erik grows visibly frustrated as the meal wears on. At her wit's end, Edie decides to focus on Charles opening up; perhaps that will allow Erik to see what Charles can potentially be like in a one-on-one conversation.

  "Charles, darling," Edie dabs away some sauce from his small chin. "Why don't you tell us what you did yesterdayday with Moira and Raven?"

Sure enough, Charles' face lights up like a glowing candle. "We saw kitties!"

  "Did you now? What were they like?" Edie encourages.

  "They were teensy-- I mean, tiny!" Charles corrects himself, his child-like voice animated and words nearly stumbling over each other in excitement. "And fluffy! There were this many!"

He holds up three fingers on his left and four on his right.

  "That many! How many is that, Charles?" Edie smiles.

  "One...two..." his brow furrows and his nose scrunches up adorably as he counts his fingers. "...four...seven!"

  "Very good!" Edie praises, beaming with maternal pride. "Where did you see the kitties?"

  "With the horses!" Charles beams. "Logan showed me them."

  "Did he? And did you see the horses, too?"

  "No," Charles' bottom lip juts out the tiniest bit in an unmistakable pout. "He said I was too small and they were too big."

  "Erik," Edie seizes the opportunity like a dehydrated man grabbing for water. Her son has been watching the entire conversation, and he startles at the sudden mention of his name. "Why don't you show Charles your horse tomorrow morning? Surely Charles would love to meet Magneto. After all, he’s _very_ well-mannered."

Charles shrinks back under Erik's regard, and Edie gives him a meaningful look over his head.

  "Certainly," Erik says, and if he looks more than a little terrified, Edie pretends to notice naught.

She dearly looks forward to tomorrow's lunch, and hides her smile behind a sip of wine.

* * *

 

That night, Erik has his first nightmare since returning to Genosha.

He dreams that he is back on the battlefield, knee deep in the corpses of his men who have died upholding Erik's ideals. He cannot close his eyes to the horrors that lay before him, and it sinks into his skin, fills his olfactory senses with the stench of blood and death. Arrows whistle through the air, and the clang of metal on metal rings in the distance. He cannot escape— _the dead, they don’t forgive_ — _I’m sorry, I’m sorry—_

A child screams, and Erik is dragged back to wakefulness. Sweat plasters his clothes and hair to his skin, soaking his sheets. His breathing is ragged, and his gaze darts about frantically, searching for something, anything to ground him to the present.

Then he hears it: the child still wailing, sobbing loudly. The noise is muffled by the stone walls, but it is as piercing as if the child were screaming in Erik's ear. He scrambles out of bed, and runs barefooted down the hallways, motivated by some indecipherable feeling that makes his gut queasy. The cries do not subside, which makes it easier for Erik to follow them to their source, but also just as hard to calm down. The nightmare was lurking too closely to consciousness for him to feel truly safe in wakefulness, and the high-pitched cries aren’t easing the fear. Have his nightmare followed him into wakefulness?

He comes upon an opened door, outside which are several staff still in their sleeping clothes. They all looked bewildered and concerned for the room's occupant, and as they make way for him to pass, he realises (a little foolishly) that the child crying was Charles.

His face is blotchy and red, while tears run down his cheeks and wets the collar of his robes. Raven has him in her lap, one hand stroking his back as Moira stands over them both, trying to soothe him into peacefulness. He clutches at the front of Raven's robes, and his wailing does not soften no matter what they say.

  "What's going on here?" Erik asks a little breathlessly.

Raven looks up and gives him a withering look as if he were an idiot. "He had a nightmare."

Charles peers up at Erik, eyes watery and chest heaving dreadfully. His blue eyes are somehow brighter, almost as if they were glowing with some sort of preternatural knowledge. Slowly, he lifts a finger and points at Erik.

  "Bad dream," Charles whispers shakily. "His."

 


	5. Let's Get Along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edie wants Charles and Erik to get along; is that really too much to ask for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owe all my readers, especially those who have bookmarked, subscribed, commented and given kudos A MEGAHUGE APOLOGY. I am so sorry- I have been stuck in a writing rut and wasn't really sure how to progress with this story. But thanks to alot of you lovelies who have given me suggestions, I kind of have an inkling of how to go about this and a potential plot line (but be warned: much angst. many angst. also possible noncon but perhaps not in explicit detail). Anyway, this is just a filler chapter so I can move past this obstacle and get on with the actual plot! Enjoy~

Breakfast the following morning is a subdued and awkward affair. Edie tries to fill the silence with polite cheer, but even she surrenders when it becomes painfully clear that neither Charles nor Erik have the mental capacity for anything beyond lethargically shoving food into their mouths. Charles' eyes are rimmed with red, making the blue of his irises stand out even more; the shadows under Erik's eyes are even more pronounced than yesterday, if that were possible. All that can be heard in the great dining hall is the clink of silverware on porcelain, and muffled chewing. Down in the kitchens, the serving girls are telling the cooks how tense His Highness looks, and how miserable darling Charles is. But even warm platters of Charles' favourite blueberry pancakes aren't enough to turn the mood around.

Then, to the surprise of everyone present, Erik addresses Charles. "I hear you are an avid reader. Perhaps you could tell me about some of the books you have read recently?"

Edie bestows Erik with a benevolent, proud smile, while the Alpha internally braces for rejection from the toddler. He's at least four times the age of this pint-sized Omega, but he knows better than to condescend.

Charles, on the other hand, is still reeling from last night's debacle and is a little petrified by Erik's sudden attention. But manners, instilled relentlessly by his caretakers Moira and Queen Edie herself, dictate he reply with equal measure of politeness. "Uhm...I-I've just finished reading The Bunny and The Moon...?"

Charles immediately stiffens and his face goes bright red; Prince Erik must have read all the big books in the library--telling him about the fictional tale of how Bunny followed the Moon Princess to be her friend must be absolutely trivial to him! He ducks his head and keeps eating even though his embarrassment has effectively demolished his appetite, if only to _do_ something other than sit there with his face on fire.

  "Ah, the story of how the Bunny befriended the lonely Moon Princess?" Erik gives Charles a fond, little smile. He recalls Edie reading it to him as a boy when he'd been estranged from his peers because he was the Prince and treated accordingly by all around him. Erik also recalls wishing that he could have a Bunny in his life, and not two weeks later, he'd been introduced to the swordsmaster and Captain of the Guard Logan, and his bodyguard-in-training Azazel.

Charles doesn't quite understand the reason for the smile, having been utterly entrenched in the belief that Erik would mock his immature taste in books (not that he could help it-- he was already doing his best to read big words so he could move on to big books!). But from Erik's mind, Charles gets the faintest inkling of nostalgia and soft delight. He nods.

  "Did you know," Erik tells him, eyes faraway as he remembers a conversation with an Eastlander, spoken in the dim light of a less-savory pub. "That The Bunny and The Moon is actually a myth in the East? People believe that the Moon Princess took a potion of immortality to prevent her beloved from being corrupted, and was thus taken away to live on the moon. Because she was lonely, the moon gave her a companion in the form of a bunny. There are different interpretations, of course, but this is one of them."

Erik cuts himself off, feeling a little silly for going into such great detail over a story that might be a trivial tool of comfort for Charles. But the little Omega is staring up at him, wide-eyed and undeniably fascinated.

  "How do you know that?" Charles wants to know, shyness and hesitation forgotten in the wake of his hunger for knowledge. It's not difficult to cultivate said hunger when all you know is the four walls of the castle and at most, the perimeters of the village market square.

  "I met a man who hailed from the East," Erik's smile grows a little wider at Charles' eagerness. It is, quite frankly, adorable and he is helpless to deny it. "He was heading home from the Northern regions."

  "What was he doing there?"

Erik hesitates to tell him the truth: that the man was a runaway slave, that he'd been cheated into captivity and forced to work under atrocious conditions, unable to contact his loved ones at home. Erik and his men had sheltered Shiro Yoshida until he was safely aboard the ship to Wakanda, where he would likely receive help and aid from the many freed slaves there until he returned home. So he tells Charles that Shiro was a traveller, trying to chart the different cultures across the world and share his experiences with his countrymen. It's a sanitized, censored version of the truth--a brutal reality Charles need never know. Indeed, as Erik and Charles warm up to each other over shared tales (Charles' antics cross-referenced with Erik's childhood adventures, and Erik's watered-down stories from being away from home), Erik swears to himself that Charles never need to be exposed to the cruelty of a world beyond this country's borders.

* * *

By lunch, almost all the unhappy tension between Erik and Charles was effectively diffused, much to Edie's delight.

  "Magneto is _huge!"_ Charles tells Edie excitedly, eyes bright with amazement and cheeks comically bulging with food. "He's _twice_ as big as I am! Maybe _thrice_!"

Since Magneto is a thoroughbred stallion, Edie guesses Charles might be severely overestimating his own size but doesn't mention it. She smiles and peppers him with questions.

  "And and and Erik let me sit on Magneto," Charles says proudly. It had been the highlight of the day, being allowed to sit on a grown-up horse's back. "All by myself!"

  " _I held the reins_ ," Erik mouths when his mother turns on him with a horrified expression. She nods, relieved.

  "Erik says," Charles pauses to swallow. "Erik says Magneto is a thurry--a thura--"

  "Thoroughbred?" Edie helpfully supplies, lest he choke on his own tongue.

  "Thurrowbread!" Charles repeats, if a little incorrectly. "But he said Blackie isn't. Is that bad?"

Blackie is a pony, belonging to no one in particular but open to loans for running errands. Since he was small enough for Charles to ride without someone having a heart attack about an accident, he's unofficially Charles'.

  "No, it's not a bad thing," Edie explains. "It just means Magneto is a lot stronger, and thus more expensive."

Charles' brow furrows, like he doesn't quite get the distinction. "So Blackie isn't strong?"

  "Not as strong as Magneto," Erik shakes his head. "Blackie wasn't made for war."

  "War is bad," Charles latches on to the word with his one-track mind, the complicated discussion about thoroughbreds forgotten. "Nightmares."

The young Omega gives a full-bodied shiver, and Erik fumbles with his knife and fork, at a loss for what to say. Edie quickly picks up the slack before the atmosphere sours entirely.

  "War is bad," Edie affirms. "But unfortunately, it is a regular occurrence and sometimes a necessary one. Can you explain why, Charles?"

Charles screws up his little nose, looking utterly adorable in his confusion. "No. Why?"

  "Sometimes war is necessary to remove bad people from power, to stop them from hurting more people," Edie explains. "Remember when you hit Freddie so he would stop bullying Marie?"

  "Freddie won," Charles informs Erik, who is amused and overcome with nostalgia for the days when he brawled with the village children, Logan and Azazel backing him up to the bitter end of scraped knees and bruised knuckles.

  "Yes, but then Marie called her friends and all of you ganged up on Freddie," Edie points out. "Freddie never bothered any of you again."

Charles opens his mouth, then shuts it again, looking more thoughtful now.

  "So sometimes war is necessary to keep bad people away and to keep good people safe," Edie smiles when Charles still looks vaguely confused. "But perhaps that's an explanation that can wait until you're older."

  "I am older!" Charles insists. He turns to Erik with a grave solemnity that makes both all observing adults chuckle. "I'm _five._ And a half."

  "That is indeed a good age," Erik allows, a silver of a smile peeking through the usual stiff set of his mouth. "I was five when I held my first sword."

  "Erik!" Edie chides just as Charles' eyes _light_ up. Erik shrugs, full-on smiling now.

  "Can I have a sword?" Charles leans forwards, and if he had a tail one would imagine it would be wagging like a frenzied metronome.

  "Absolutely not," Edie says the same time Erik says "why not?".

The look Edie shoots Erik is foreboding in the extreme, but the Alpha shrugs it off with a smug grin. His mother wanted them to get along, did she not? Well, Erik certainly has no intentions of "getting along" with any Omega raised to believe their domain is restricted to embroidery and etiquette. He firmly believed that Omegas were entitled to the same rights and activities as Alphas, and that anyone who believed otherwise, even Omegas themselves, needed to be shown that they were wrong. Sometimes violently so.

And if Charles found delight in swordplay and riding, who was Erik to deny him?

Perhaps coming home was not such a terrible thing after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. props to those who got the (very loose and liberally rearranged) Chang'E reference. For the record, I am Chinese (before any of you get all up in my jam about stealing my own culture).


	6. Breath of Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time passes, and Charles gets his first heat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have had half this chapter already written and waiting for me in my email inbox, forgotten till now. I sincerely apologise for having left all my readers waiting, and hope this is as satisfying as they'd expected.

Season dissolves into season, one after another, and years have passed before Erik can fully grasp how quickly time slips by. He settles into the role of king, his inheritance from his father, kept open and waiting for his return by his mother. Settling inane disputes between his citizens and quelling petty border conflicts becomes routine, and though his nightmares have not faded into obscurity completely, they have dwindled into the rare haunting that strikes every once in a while. He is surrounded by general peace, contentment and mundaneness.

Most importantly, he has Charles to guide and care for.

Charles, whose appearance at the age of twelve begins to reflect the soul blossoming within, but has yet to fully outgrow and shed the puppy fat that makes his pink cheeks and the edges of his body soft and sweet. Erik (and everyone who knows him) secretly hope he never will, but Charles is insistent on growing up and mastering whatever else only adults are capable of. To Edie’s horror, Erik has shown Charles how to hold a dagger, a bow and a wooden sword specially made for him to train with. He shows a little unsteadiness with the sword, though that can be corrected once he gains more muscle (again, something everyone hopes will never happen), and considerable potential for the bow. In the span of a few months, he shoots up in height from Erik’s hip to the general vicinity of his diaphragm, frequently eliciting a need to have his clothes altered or remade entirely to compensate. He occasionally underestimates the length of his stride and limbs, tripping over his own feet and banging his joints against doors and chairs. Erik laughs in remembrance of his own clumsy adolescence; though his was much more severe with his Alpha genes contributing to a far more extreme growth spurt (Edie would recount how broken bones and sprained joints were almost a daily occurrence).

Erik savors these mostly peaceful days with his mother and Charles, knowing that time spent with those he holds dear must be cherished, a value hammered into his soul by war and made all too real by witnessing the fragility of life. He makes sure to eat at least two meals a day with his mother and Charles, takes walks with either one of them, holds court with his mother at his side and sets aside time to train Charles.  His mother’s hope that they will become mates cannot be ignored, but for now, Charles is more like the precious little brother he never had, and Charles seemingly shares the sentiment in idolizing Erik like an older brother. He tags along with Erik wherever he can, and used to sit in Erik’s lap while he held court when he was much younger (until he turned eight and discovered sitting on people’s laps was for babies – it was a sad, tragic day in the Lehnsherr house for both the royal family and the staff alike). Charles tries to copy everything Erik does, in hopes of becoming more grown up and mature and such acts were inclusive of but not limited to:

  * Taking coffee without any sweeteners or milk (the idea of Charles taking coffee at all was both horrifying and amusing—horrifying for Edie and the staff, amusing for Erik, who was an enabler)
  * Holding court (though the village children quickly tired of having to think up disputes and lost interest in being subjugates)
  * Reading thick tomes on history and governance (Erik would lift his tiny body from between the pages of some arrestingly large book and carry him to bed, much to Charles’ chagrin)
  * Eating more meat than any other food (Erik’s Drachen stomach played a heavy role in this)



Of course, Charles has no Drachen blood and cannot take to the skies as Erik does to blow off steam (idiot citizens are still Erik’s citizens, but that in no way nullifies nor excuses idiocy). It serves as the only reminder that they are not siblings by blood.

Until Charles turns fourteen, and has his very first heat.

\----------------------

Nobody tells Charles what to expect. Then again, nobody  _can._ There hasn't been a male omega in centuries, and female omegas have genetically assimilated to female betas. This means that it is highly likely that no one has endured a heat for decades. Without a reference point, Charles is suffering whilst unable to know what to expect. The staff do their best to aid him, but they are oblivious to the true agony of his plight.

It is like being boiled alive in an inferno of twisted needs and wants, his body writhing and humping unconsciously against the sheets of his bed that now seem like burlap to touch rather than silk. Sheets that are now soaked through with an unfamiliar, clear substance that's veritably  _flooding_ from the most embarrassing orifice of his body. In addition to being hot, bothered, sticky and overwhelmingly uncomfortable, Charles is now humiliated.

He knows that he is structured differently from his peers, in that while they have just a penis, Charles has both a penis and what Edie told him is a "birthing slit" between his penis and his butt-hole. According to her and yellowed, old scrolls from generations ago, the birthing slit on a male omega is somewhat similar to a female's vagina, except that it is smaller and much more difficult to penetrate unless the male omega is in heat or in labor. This means having sex with a male omega requires either the omega to be in heat, or thorough and patient preparation on their lover's part. Sex out of such situations would be extremely painful, and could even result in death for the omega.

He had been twelve when Edie reluctantly showed him the scrolls, duty-bound as his guardian to instruct him on his own anatomy lest he suffer in ignorance.

His birthing slit is producing slick in anticipation for penetration, eagerly yearning for a mate.

A face with ice-cut features and eyes the color to match rises from the haze in his mind, but he shoves it back down as viciously as he humps the bed, focussing on the annoyed creaking of the bed frame and rustling of the sheets under him.

Charles would sooner die than lower himself to such debasing fantasies. He has more pride than that, his forebrain insists. His hindbrain, the one housing his Omega instincts, pleads otherwise. It's a battle between instinct and conscious thought, and as Charles' heat progresses through the day (could the hours go by any slower?), the latter is losing ground. By the time the sun sets on the first day of Charles' first heat, his potent pheromones have induced all non-Betas in a fifty-mile radius into a sexual frenzy and his mind is plagued with the repetitive fantasy of being mated, knotted and bred by Erik Lehnsherr. Charles drinks up the illusion like a dehydrated man at an oasis, unaware that some doors down the corridor, the King himself is furiously jerking off to the very same fantasy.

\------------------

Charles surfaces from his heat a little under a week later, thoroughly embarrassed and only appearing at the dining table because Raven wouldn't stop lecturing him otherwise. His face is still flushed with a mixture of residual Heat and unrelenting shame, and his clothes still feel too stifling, chafing against every inch of his skin as he walks to the dining room like a prisoner to the gallows.

  "Charles!" Edie envelopes him in her flowers-honey-spices scent, and though it isn't by much, Charles is soothed somewhat. He exhales audibly and soaks up Edie's embrace as much as he is able to. "Are you alright? I'm afraid we couldn't be of more use, since we weren't sure what to expect or how to deal with it better..."

  "I'm okay," Charles assures her. "A little sore and tired, but nothing a good night's rest can't fix."

Edie looks no less concerned, despite his assurances of his wellbeing, and steers him towards the dining table where it's laden high with food with all the firm mother's belief that good food can fix most things. And it would have successfully diverted Charles from his self-recrimination, except that he catches sight of Erik sitting at the head of the table, face inscrutable.

Surprisingly enough, Erik's blankness is comforting and Charles slides into his seat opposite Edie. Now, placed in front of the feast, he's suddenly overcome with the awareness that he hasn't eaten a proper meal since his heat begun, too preoccupied with his biology to ingest whatever was served to him on a tray outside his door. He begins to eat with gusto, under Edie's approving gaze. For a while, the only noise in the dining hall is the sound of cutlery on porcelain and food being consumed. Out of Charles' line of sight, Edie and Erik have a silent conversation with their eyes: Erik defensive and evasive, Edie accusatory and insistent.

Before long, Charles has eaten what he feels like is his body weight in food, and begs to retire. Edie excuses him, if only to have a proper conversation with Erik. As soon as the Omega is out of earshot, Edie rounds on her son.

  "Why did you say nothing?" Edie shoots her son a disapproving look.

  "What am I to say?" Erik rolls his eyes. " 'How was your heat, Charles? Was your slick a healthy color? Would you like a companion for your next one?' "

The look Edie shoots him is painfully sharp, and Erik sighs a curt apology.

  "It is difficult enough on him as it is," Edie scolds. "Just treat him as you normally would! Pretend he was down with a terrible cold, and leave it behind."

She brandishes a butter knife, and her son begrudgingly leaves, as though she were waving a broadsword at him. He mutters about pushy parents and awkward interactions as he walks in the direction of Charles' rooms, pointedly ignoring the sideways glances he receives as he closes in on his destination. The residual smell of Charles' heat clings like a very annoying limpet to the general vicinity of his room, and it makes something hot and base curl in Erik's gut. He raps on the door, tamping down on the feeling as it makes a bid for his groin and lower regions. He cannot have these thoughts about Charles, the little brother he'd never had, sweet and beautiful Charles whose eyes were as blue as--

Erik squashes the thought just as the door swings open and said blue eyes stare up at him uncomprehendingly.

  "Are you all right?" he blurts out before anything else can be said.

Charles is visibly taken aback, but just as quickly relaxes, if minutely. "I, ah... yes, my Lord."

 _My Lord_. Charles hasn't called him that since...not in years, since his return from war and Charles was still a nervous child who only knew of court etiquette and nothing of the Erik he's grown so close to over the years. For a brief moment, Erik hates the biology that has made Charles an Omega, that has reduced them to this stifling awkwardness despite years of kinship.

  "I see..." Erik hesitates, unsure of what to say next, if there is even  _anything_ appropriate for him to say. He is an Alpha, and only a century ago he could have exercised his right as  _droit de seigneur_ or some such flimsy and nonsensical law and claimed Charles as his own. But this was now, and Charles was his own person, and his hand, his body, his bed could only be claimed by those of his choice. Besides, he didn't see Charles in that way, so this line of thought was absolutely ridiculous.

  "Did you want to see me for anything else?" Charles inquires, peering up at him with some concern and confusion.

  "I, uh, no," Erik mutters and quickly turns away, striding down the hall to his own chambers like a fire was biting at his heels.

His ears certainly seemed red enough to be testament to the feeling.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short filler-isa chapter till I get my wits straight and butt in gear. Hope you all enjoyed it, brief though it was!


	7. Drown in Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles hears from his mother for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Under great expectations and hopeful messages, I have struggled and parked my procrastinating ass long enough to write this sad excuse for a chapter. May it be satisfying.

Interactions between Charles and Erik remain somewhat strained and tricky, but with Edie playing go-between of sorts, they manage to overcome the worst of their awkwardness. It's almost like Charles is five and unwieldy with his budding Sight again, when Erik was the recently-returned war veteran who gave him untethered nightmares of horrific battle scenes.

Only now, the only thing hindering each of them from communicating is the uncommunicable wandering thoughts of the other's anatomy.

While Erik is firmly distracting himself from entertaining these thoughts with unrelenting training and discipline of his soldiers, Charles is left to consider if his less-than-innocent thoughts about Erik during his heat were anything more than biology prompting him to crave the closest and most dominant Alpha in his life, or an actual desire for a relationship. Edie has mentioned before that he and Erik were engaged, as arranged by both their sires, but he should feel no pressure to go through with it. Erik had sidelined the arrangement when Charles made enquiries about it out of curiosity and discomfort, and reassured him that should Charles wish to end the frankly-unformalised-therefore-tentative engagement, it would be no trouble.

 _No trouble for whom?_ was the question Charles forgot to ask. That was years ago, when Charles was just barely ten and Edie had yet to educate him about what to expect from his Omega biology.

Now, his relationship with Erik as everything-but-blood brothers is on tenterhooks, as he thinks about the idea of actually marrying Erik for the first time.

* * *

 

Out of due respect, consideration and in compliance with tradition, Edie has sent word to Sharon Xavier to inform her that Charles was now of age. He was considered old enough to be Mated, his body prepared for the ceremony of Bonding and thereafter, procreation. She does not expect to hear anything, perhaps an impersonal and brief acknowledgement of receiving the letter at most, but not much else from the woman who gave up her son so as to avoid the burden of having to deal with both him and the death of her husband.

To be frank, Edie expects nothing of her at all, for she cannot contemplate how a mother can give up her child. Granted, Erik was a boy and no longer a babe that required constant care when her Jakob passed, and even offered Edie some comfort as well as he could. But to abandon your infant son to virtual strangers, and if Edie heard correctly, to wallow in your grief with the aid of alcohol--it is unthinkable and absolutely not right.

So when a messenger comes back not with a slip of parchment but with an actual letter, Edie is surprised, to say the least.

 

* * *

 

  "Your mother wishes to see you."

Both Erik and Charles choke at the news Edie suddenly breaks to them over dinner; Erik on his steak, Charles on a morsel of cheese. They cough and gulp water, and cough again.

  "I beg your pardon?" Charles stutters.

  "I sent word to your mother, to inform her that you were now of age," Edie sighs. "Merely a courtesy note, out of respect and tradition. I did not expect her to reply."

  "Why send word at all?" Erik grumbles into his drink. "For all you know, she could have forgotten--"

Edie silences him with a look.

  "I...can I read the letter?" Charles asks, hesitant.

Edie makes a strange expression, but just as quickly smooths it out. "I spilled something on the letter. It's quite illegible now, so I'm afraid there isn't much to read. I apologise."

Erik gives her a look that says that he's not buying it.

  "Oh," Charles slumps in his chair. "Did she say why?"

  "Apparently," Edie begins to cut herself a bite of the steak, and Erik knows right away something is up--his mother always gives eye contact when speaking, unless there is something she is hiding. "She is overcome with longing and misses you dearly. She would like to see you as soon as possible."

Charles' brow wrinkles, and it is no wonder. He has not seen nor heard from his mother in fourteen years, and has quite truly never given her any thought at all. After all, there are far more interesting things to be preoccupied with, like books, swordplay, learning how to hold court, Erik-- he quickly cuts off that line of thought before his ears follow the direction of his cheeks and start to burn.

  "I'd like to sleep on it," Charles murmurs. He is unsure whether he truly wants to meet his mother, the woman who conceived and gave birth to him, but then gave him up into the Lehnsherr's care. Edie has been all the maternal figure he could ask for, despite her gentle dissuasion of him calling her "mother", something he often envies Erik. Quite honestly, he has never imagined that such an occasion would ever arise, in which he would need to decide whether or not to see her again when he had already resigned himself to never seeing her in his life, not because of her disappointing lack of maternal role-playing in it but rather out of a simple "things will be what they are" attitude.

  "Think about it as much as you like," Edie reassures him. "No matter what your decision, Erik and I will always support it."

After dinner, Erik corners his mother. Charles has retired to his bedchambers, troubled and deliberating.

  "Why did you destroy the letter?" Erik asks, both curious and unnerved. It is not like his mother to lie. As far as he can recall, she has never lied to him--not when his father died in battle, and when Erik asked where he had gone, why he wasn't coming back.

  "Erik..." Edie sighs. "It contained some inappropriate words. Frankly, I do not think Sharon Xavier even had any hand in writing the letter. I am quite convinced that she did not even receive my message, and that someone else is writing in her place."

  "Then isn't it dangerous? For Charles to go to Westchester?" Erik scowls. "It could be a trap, or a kidnapping."

  "It has her seal on the letter," Edie shakes her head. "And her signature. Sloppy, but it _is_  Sharon Xavier who authorised the letter, even if she did not write it. I think it is a regent. Or an advisor."

  "Mother, what did it say? Word for word," Erik insists.

Edie looks at her son, a proud Alpha Drachen who has inherited Jakob's noble standing, his handsome features. Her heart, and both their passions. She has so dearly wished to see her son happy with Charles, whom she knows can give him that great joy she once had with Jakob, despite their current stiltedness.

  "Mother?"

She sighs. "The letter demanded that Charles return to Westchester, and that any arrangement made between Brian Xavier and Jakob Lehnsherr for their sons be declared null and void."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick filler chapter, to prelude the next one. I have an idea of how this will play out, and will be changing/adding some tags. TAKE HEED.


End file.
